Castiel, The Angel Sword
by EnchiladaDan
Summary: Castiel is a (terrible) home-schooled hunter just trying to survive under the insane tutelage of his father Metatron. Sam & Dean are angels charged with helping the awkward young man fulfill the prophecy. When the 3 meet, Cas learns everything he thought he knew about angels was wrong. Based on a tumblr prompt. Rated T for language, references to abuse and sexual humor. One-shot.


Author's note: To avoid confusion, I wanted to state that Cas' father IS Metatron. But being a human, no one would ever be named Metatron unless he gave that name to himself. I'm having his original name be Michael, but this is only a name. The character is, for all intents and purposes, Metatron. Same goes for Sam (his angel name is only Samandriel because he is an angel). Anyway, this is a crack fic so please don't be offended by my interpretation of religion in this fic. Enjoy! 

Castiel closed the dusty tome, sighing. "I can't believe I'm still researching angel lore. Father's not even _here_."

He pushed the book further away, and the clock chimed four. His hands itched as he forced himself not to pick up his copy of the King James. "No, he _doesn't_ own me." His father "Metatron" - no, _Michael_ - he corrected, had beat the habit of reading scripture into him from a young age. However, said father was off on a hunt and since his mother Naomi had died, no one could enforce his "lessons."

He stood up from the table, and moved to his room. He closed and locked the door behind himself as a force of habit, and sat down on his bed. No one else was home, and he'd hit a wall with research. Maybe he should do something else, something… _sinful_.

His pulse quickened at the thought. He drew his curtains shut and unplugged the phone from the wall. Somehow, his father always seemed to know when he was engaging in "onanism" and interrupted in some way. He was almost always punished.

But a man had needs. Yes, Castiel was a man now - 21 years old, to be exact - and his urges weren't bound to go away any time soon. So he slowly unbuttoned his plaid shirt, and pulled it off. He hadn't been wearing shoes since he was inside and "cleanliness was next to Godliness." His hands moved down and he unbuckled his belt slowly, ears pricked for any unusual sounds.

After he shucked off his pants, he crawled into bed. As he settled the covers around himself, he was about to wriggle out of his boxer shorts when he heard an ear-piercing sound. It was coming from the radio. He quickly got up and walked over to it. He unplugged the device and was headed back towards his bed when the sound started again, this time with hushed whispers joining it.

Oh, no. His radio was haunted. He plugged the phone back into the wall quickly and it started to ring. He picked up the receiver and the whispering grew louder. The young hunter was full-on panicking now, and he scrambled back into his jeans, doing them up before gathering the jug of holy water from his nightstand, and digging the gun out of his drawer.

Castiel stood there with bated breath, preparing for an attack. As his mind conjured up the exorcism spell, the sound grew louder and louder. Eventually, Cas raised his hands to his ears and dropped to his knees, completely unable to defend himself.

The window panes shattered and a strong wind whipped in, until two men stood before him… No, not men - creatures. They looked like men except for the glowing blue of their eyes and the large wings unfurled from their backs.

"W-what do you want? Who are you?" Cas asked, lowering his hands from his ears. The ringing had finally stopped.

"We want you, Castiel. You are the chosen one," the larger man replied. His brown hair seemed to shine unnaturally in the dim light of Cas' room. The blonde one next to him nodded.

Suddenly, the blonde one spoke, his voice much deeper than Cas had expected: "'And the prophecy foretold of a gentle man separated from the world. This man is chosen to help safe-guard heaven, for the heavenly host commands it so'… etc, etc."

"Excuse me?" Cas asked, suddenly confused. What was with these beings?

"Look guy, we're angels and you are the angel sword. Now come with us," the blonde ordered, exasperated.

"Angels? No, that's not what the books said! Just because you have wings doesn't mean… You're harpies, aren't you? Or sirens, or dragons!" His heart hammered in his chest, and the gun shook in his hand. How was he going to be able to shoot?

The brunette looked at the other and said, "My brother, our power is frightening the mortal. He doesn't believe us." Suddenly, he blinked, and the blue light was gone, his eyes now hazel. They were verging on blue and he blinked again, his pupils adjusting to the light.

The blonde nodded and blinked slowly. When he turned his attention back to Castiel, his eyes were a dazzling shade of green. "Is this better?" he asked, expecting Cas to speak.

The beings looked more like humans now, except for the giant wings which had tucked themselves up against their backs. The brown haired one's wings were the most beautiful by far: they were an iridescent white, each sharp-tipped feather lined in silver. Although the room was not bright, in sunlight the feathers would mirror the colors of the rainbow in scope. The man wore gladiator-style leather armor, a sword fastened into his scabbard. The handle of the sword ended in a glowing golden orb.

The blonde's wings were slightly smaller, and darker: his feathers were golden, each rounded tip outlined in deep, inky black. He, too, wore the same armor, and carried a similar sword. However, the blonde's beauty was not in his wings, but in his face.

Although the brunette was solidly-built and his countenance handsome, his "brother's" was other-worldly: The blonde had large green eyes, soft pink lips curved in an almost-feminine form, and high cheekbones. In fact, the only masculine features of his face were the strong jaw and slightly cleft chin of the man. Castiel was more and more perplexed by the impatient nature of this great beauty.

"Hey, 'Running man,' you okay?" he asked.

"What did you call me?" Cas asked, focusing his attention to the two. Despite their good looks, they could still be threats.

"Wow, you were right. This guy really was home-schooled. Even our vessels understood that reference."

"Vessels? Wait, _who are you_? I thought you were angels?" He got a sick feeling in his gut, but his hand had finally stopped shaking. He raised the gun and pulled the hammer with his thumb.

"My name is Samandriel, and this is my brother. We are Hashmallim - also known as Dominion angels. We're second tier brethren and are here to deliver you unto heaven, so that you may fight in the great 200th angel war," the brunette replied calmly, meeting Cas' frightened gaze. "But you can call me Sam."

Cas pointed his gun at the blonde now. "And who are you?" he demanded.

"My angel name is eighteen syllables long. Call me by my vessel's name - Dean. Anyway, we've wasted enough time. Let's get going."

Dean stepped forward, raising his arm. Cas, fearing the worst, squeezed the trigger. He shot Dean square in the chest, but Dean's advance continued. "Bullets do not kill an angel," he remarked, and moved his outstretched hand to his chest. The bullet floated out of the wound, and the wound healed itself. Dean got up close to Cas before he sputtered out, "D-Don't touch me!"

"I'm not trying to get into your pants, dude. I just need to touch your forehead so I can teleport you."

"Brother, perhaps we are still frightening the human," Sam pondered aloud. "Should we veil our wings?"

"Veil our wings? You're kidding me, right? It was your idea for us to bring them into this plane of existence in the first place!"

Castiel started. Wings in other planes of existence… where had he heard that before?

The angel book… They really _were_ angels.

"Look, I know you're afraid-" Sam began.

"But I'm sure you're also dying to get away from your abusive cult leader too, so let's go," Dean finished.

"Cult leader? But I'm the only one here…"

"For now. Your caregiver, self-proclaimed 'Metatron' is assembling a group of followers, not hunting werewolves," Sam explained.

"And while we can appreciate the existential crisis you're about to have, we need you to get your shit together, Cas. This is prophecy, you're the angel sword. Let's get the lead out."

"Cas? I thought angels were supposed to be proper, what's with you?"

"We already have an angel named _Cassiel_, so if I call you by your full name, it's just gonna mess me up. You're Cas now."

Sam just nodded, and added, "Please, Cas, we need you."

Cas nodded and let Dean touch his forehead. With a flap of wings, the room was suddenly empty.

**END**


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